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The meek intelligence of those dear eyes,
Adieus and farewells are a sound unknown.
my But, though I less deplor'd thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt, our name is heard no
more, Children, not thine, have trod my nursery floor; And where the gardener, Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapp'd In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap'd, 'Tis now become a history little known, That once we called the pastoral house our own. Short-lived possession ! but the record fair That memory keeps of all thy kindness there Still outlives many a storm that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced.
Thy nightly visits to my chamber made,
glow'd ; All this--and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Ne'er roughen'd by those cataracts and breaks That humour interpos'd too often makes ; All this still legible in memory's page, And still to be so to my latest age, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Such honours to thee as my numbers may ; Perhaps a frail memorial, but sincere, [here. Not scorned in heaven though little noticed Could time, his flight revers'd, restore the hours, When, playing with thy vesture's tissued
flowers, The violet, the pink, and jessamine ; I prick'd them into paper with a pin, And thou wast happier than myself the while, Would'st softly speak, and stroke my head, and Could those few pleasant days again appear, Might one wish bring them, would I wish
them here? I would not trust my heart—the dear delight Seems so to be desir'd, perhaps I might ;But no—what here we call our life is such, So little to be loved and thou so much, That I should ill requite thee to constrain Thy unbound spirit into bonds again ;
Thou as a gallant bark from Albion's coast, The storms all weathered and the ocean cross'd, Shoots into port at some well-haven'd isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons
smile; There sits quiescent on the floods, that show Her beauteous form reflected clear below, While airs, impregnated with incense play Around her, fanning light her streamers gay ; So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached
the shore “Where tempests never beat nor billows roar," And thy lov'd consort, on the dangerous tide Of life, long since has anchor'd by thy side ; But me, scarce hoping to attain that rest, Always from port withheld, always distress'dThe howling blasts, drive devious, tempest
Sails ripp'd, seams opening wide, and compass
And day by day some current's thwarting force, Sets me more distant from a prosperous course. Yet oh, the thought that thou art safe, and he That thought is joy, arrive what may to me. My boast is not, that I deduce
birth From loins enthron'd, and rulers of the earth; But higher far my proud pretensions riseThe son of parents pass'd into the skies. And now farewell ;-time unrevok'd has run His wonted course, yet what I wish'd is done. By Contemplation's help, not sought in vain, I seemed to have liv'd my childhood o'er
again ; To have renew'd the joys that once were mine, Without the sin of violating thine ; And, while the wings of Fancy still are free, And I can view this mimic show of thee, Time has but half succeeded in his theft Thyself removed, thy power to soothe me left.